


You Only Die Twice

by proleptic_fancy



Category: Dead Like Me, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-07
Updated: 2008-08-07
Packaged: 2017-11-28 06:02:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/671096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/proleptic_fancy/pseuds/proleptic_fancy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The guy on the post-it doesn't even have a name, and somehow that's still the easiest part.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Only Die Twice

**Author's Note:**

> Eddie Izzard for Eleven!

"Fucking hell!"

Mason aimed a vicious kick at a loose bit of sidewalk, sending it skittering across the pavement, and checked his post-it again. Surprisingly enough, it had not become any less vague in the ten seconds since he'd looked at it last. Bugger.

"What the fuck kind of name is 'The Doctor' anyway? Doctor bloody who is what I want to know," he grumbled to himself.

At least he seemed to be in the right place, not like that was any walk in the fucking park either. Rube had some kind of nerve, sending him across town for a reap in twenty fucking minutes, just as Mason was sitting down to his breakfast. The guy couldn't be more of a bastard if he tried, honestly. Still, he was here now, and he was going to do this properly.

"Now let's see," he said, scanning the quiet street for anyone who looked like a doctor.

Somehow he doubted it was the twitchy little bastard leaning against the abandoned storefront window, or the stupid kid buying drugs off of him. Either way, in two minutes, he'd be finding out.

Another glance, another kick, but this time, the stone landed against something solid that most definitely hadn't been there before. Mason looked up, rubbed his eyes, and looked again, but the object remained. He grinned in spite of himself—hadn't seen one of these since, well, since before he died.

"You are a long way from home, my friend," he said, crossing the street to get a better look at the tall blue police box. "But where the hell did you come from?"

Before he could examine the mystery box any further, a thin man in a brown pinstriped suit bustled around the corner, and something in Mason just _knew_ the time was right. He lowered his head and made his move, mumbling a quick, "Pardon me, mate," as he brushed past, and tried to ignore the strange tingle that formed at the base of his neck when he released the stranger's soul.

The man, this Doctor, wheeled around, peering down at Mason with a mix of shock and what could have been resignation.

"Today? Really?" he asked, then gave a what-can-you-do shrug and continued on his way.

Mason stared, open-mouthed. That man, he couldn't, he couldn't have _known_. Could he? That was not how things were supposed to work around here. He made a note to ask Rube next chance he got. Bastard was old enough, maybe he had experience with this sort of shit.

"Excuse me!" the man called out, making a beeline for the drug deal in progress.

Mason winced. Bad idea. Very bad idea.

"Do you have the—" the Doctor never got the chance to finish, as the dealer, in a state of blind panic, had just plugged two rounds into his chest.

The last two shots went wild, one striking a lamppost, the other lodging itself firmly in Mason's thigh, before the shooter turned and fled, his customer right behind him.

"Oh fuck fucking hell son of a fuck!" Mason shouted, clutching ineffectually his leg while he tried to stagger over to where the Doctor had fallen. "You have _got_ to be shitting me!"

The Doctor was still alive, but only just, his breathing painfully shallow as Mason dropped to the bloody pavement next to him. It was a hollow gesture at best, and the lancing pain in his leg didn't exactly help matters, but something about making the man a bit more comfortable in his last seconds made Mason feel a little less guilty.

"Ironic, isn't it?" Mason said, laying a hand on the man's shoulder. "What with you being a doctor and all."

"A bit, yeah," the Doctor said, scrutinizing his body intently from somewhere above Mason's left ear.

Mason stood with a grunt, once again grateful for the fringe benefits of being undead. Pity they couldn't do something about the fact that getting shot still hurt like a bitch and a half.

"I swear," the Doctor continued, "every time I come to your country, somebody shoots me! You'd think I'd have learned by now, but no, got to keep believing in the fundamental goodness of human nature. Though I must say, you're not too bad. It was nice getting out of there before the big event for a change. You wouldn't believe how much falling off a radio tower smarts!"

"What do you mean, 'for a change?'" Mason spluttered. "You don't die more than once! It doesn't work that way!"

The Doctor just grinned and pointed to his body.

"You're gonna love this bit," he said.

Mason frowned, confused. He was pretty sure bodies weren't supposed to glow, not outside of freak radioactive accidents anyway, and boy hadn't that been a fun reap to recover from. He was also pretty sure there had been a thin man with messy dark hair lying on the ground where there now stood a tall, stocky blond, staring down at his too-small, bloodstained suit in dismay.

"What in the hell are you?" he asked his Doctor, the dead one.

"I'm the Doctor. Timelord," the living one replied, "and don't think I can't tell you aren't exactly human either."

"Mason. Grim reaper," he said, shaking the living Doctor's offered hand.

"I think it's time I was on my way," the dead Doctor interjected, even though his counterpart couldn't hear him. "Best of luck."

Mason nodded. As nice as the guy seemed, having two of them around was starting to give him a headache. He followed the dead man's gaze, to where some kind of web of light was starting to unfold. It was difficult to describe, but it's impact on the Doctor was nothing short of profound.

Tears in his eyes, he stepped towards it, whispering in a language that gave Mason shivers, and even the living Doctor seemed to notice something big was happening on the outer edges of his awareness.

"I thought it was destroyed in the war," the Doctor said, reaching toward it. "So beautiful."

His last words on Earth hung in the air as his body gently dissolved into twisting streams of information, finally coming home.

"So, Reaper Man," the new Doctor said, "you look like someone who knows his way around a police box."

"Yeah, well," Mason shrugged. It wasn't exactly something he _tried_ to advertise.

The Doctor gave him an almost sneaky grin. "You know, there's a little town on Scorpius Alpha that brews this funny purple concoction. Doesn't do much for me personally, but I've heard humans can't get enough of the stuff."

Mason raised an eyebrow. "That an invitation?"

"Like I said, you look like someone who knows his way around a police box," he said. "It just so happens that I've got a police box."

Mason paused. After what he'd seen so far this morning, getting purple drinks from little green men didn't seem all that impossible, and he'd be a terrible liar if he said he wasn't even a little interested. Still, there was Rube to think about. Reaps. Responsibilities. Responsibilities he'd never bloody asked for, more like.

"So what do you think?"

Fuck Rube and his fucking responsibilities. He'd been dead for forty years. It was time for him to live.

In the distance, a siren wailed.

"Let's do this."  



End file.
